


I'm Fine

by winsister91



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 08:50:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18891247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winsister91/pseuds/winsister91
Summary: For @sofreddie's Ships Ahoy! ChallengeDean is lost with grief over Jo’s death when Christmas comes around. This is not how it was supposed to be.





	I'm Fine

The Impala pulled up at Bobby’s snow-covered home. Dean sighed, turning the key to plunge the rumbling engine into silence. Sam seemed enthusiastic, glad to spend Christmas day with Bobby and to just relax with a few beers. Dean had smiled the day before when his brother stated how he was actually looking forward to it, but it wasn’t a genuine smile. He didn’t want to put Sam on a downer, so just bottled it up and carried on.

Upon entering, Bobby greeted them with some ridiculously strong egg nog, enough to make even Dean grimace. They exchanged gifts that were all straight from the gas station as per tradition. Then they sat, some lame ass Christmas movie on the TV as they chatted amongst themselves. Recent cases, where they’d traveled, reminiscing old times. Dean did his best to join in with his usual witty retorts and sarcastic comments, but he knew his heart wasn’t in it. After all, he was just pretending. Every gap in the conversation, he felt his eyes lingering on the surrounding chairs. The cold empty space on the couch next to him. She could have been sat there. She  _should_ have been, and he would have given anything and everything for her to be here instead of him.

He takes another deep swig of his beer, the preferred beverage of choice compared to that damned lethal eggnog. But the bottle is empty, he’d absent-mindedly downed another one. How many now? Six? Seven? Yet he felt nothing. No buzz. No lightheadedness. All that had changed was the hole in his guts had grown bigger.

“Carry on at that rate son, there’ll soon be none left,” Bobby chuckled.

“You knew we were coming, Bobby,” Dean chuckled convincingly, “Didn’t you think to stock up? I got some more in the car.”

Getting to his feet, the change in altitude made him feel a slight rush of some minor alcohol effects. He steadied himself and trudged outside.

* * *

 

His feet dragged sluggishly in the growingly deep snow whilst the bitter air cut into his cheeks. Now alone, his brain went into overdrive. Bringing up that nagging consistent loop of questions. Could he have done something? Could she have been saved? He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe there was something he missed, and she could have been here now. He shakes his head, knowing this was a stupid thought process. It was too late. Jo was dead, and he didn’t have the power to save her  _or_ Ellen.

He grunts as he pulls one of the Impala’s back doors open, dragging his trusty beer cooler into view. He can see her, right there in his mind’s eye, constantly. When he first met her at Ellen’s bar, how impressed he was that she could easily hold her own. Ellen too. They made quite a pair of badasses. That is until he came along and screwed it all up. Dragged them into this mess of a life that was his. Then he thought about the hunt he and Sam found Jo on. Pretending to be a couple to look at that apartment. How he actually enjoyed that unexpected quality time with her before the case got nasty. He and Sam saved her that time, but luck clearly only lasts so long…

Dean opens the cooler, rubbing his head whilst he took out a beer, he needed to get this out of his system before going back inside. He twists the cap off the bottle, bringing the cold misty glass to his lips.

This is not how today was meant to be. It had all been planned. Everyone was going to be here, him, Sammy, Ellen…Jo…  
Dean and Sam were to come home to a reunion. Ellen was to cook, Bobby her faithful sous chef. Jo was going to make her meanest punch and try and take Sam and Dean on at drinking. It was meant to be a happy day, one Dean would have cherished until the next, and the next. He grit his teeth. The memory of that fated day forced its way into his mind. Even beaten and bloodied she was so beautiful. He remembered looking at her after he placed that trigger in her hands, all his plans for them fizzling away before his very eyes. He hadn’t found the words yet, but he’d planned on telling her how he felt. Bringing down his walls of bravado and letting her in, if she’d allow it. He had so many things to say and share, and in that moment, knowing she was soon to slip from this son of a bitch world, he couldn’t say any of it. He settled on letting let actions speak for themselves. Jo’s lips were everything he’d imagined and more to touch, the kiss that should have lead to many more. He hoped she knew. Knew how he truly felt. Knew that the chances of him feeling like that for anyone else were slim and next to none. He loved her, and he never told her. It made him want to take back all the sarcastic quips and comments he’d made whilst he knew her to ensure she didn’t think otherwise.

Dean felt a stinging in his eyes, he gave a hard swallow to try and be rid of the ball in his throat. His hands began to shake with pent-up energy that he had to unleash. He threw the bottle in his hand at full pelt, sending it crashing loudly into one of the nearby wrecked cars, doing little to alleviate his thumping heart and pounding headache. Rubbing his head, Dean pushed a huge sigh, ignoring the taste of salty tears settling on his upper lip. This December was his, not hers. The thought of what he would give for it to be hers. Even more for them to have shared it. He would give it all away for that. To come home to her.

Dean looked up at the night’s sky, hoping there was some way Jo could see and hear him. There was enough crazy crap out there so maybe this was a possibility, it was a nicer thought than the reality of being alone.

“I miss you,” he whispers into the cold air, “I’m sorry…”

The loud bang of Bobby’s front door closing almost made Dean jump out of his skin. Shaking his head to compose himself, he turns to see his brother looking concerned.

“Heard something smash?” Sam says with narrowed eyes, “You okay Dean? You don’t seem yourself.”

“Never better,” Dean lied with a smile, “Was just on my way back in.”

“Yeah, I  _definitely_  believe that,” Sam folded his arms defiantly, “Talk to me Dean. I haven’t forgotten what the original plan for today was. We’re  _all_  hurting you know.”

“Right,” Dean shrugs, picking up the cooler and starting back for the house.

“Dean…” Sam sighs, looking at his brother, knowing full well there was no talking to him right now, “Do you… need anything?”

“Got all I need right here,” Dean gestures to the heavy box of beer.

“Right,” Sam sighed, his shoulders dropping at the loss of getting through to him, “Well…you know where I am if you need to talk it out.”

“Sammy,” Dean sounded assertive, “I’m  _fine_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed to angst okay


End file.
